


I Try to Master the Art (Of That Far Away Love)

by Jiminiefluffloverowo



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awkward Boners, Blow Jobs, Confessions, Gay, Gay Sex, Investigations, John is Perfect, John is shy, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Male Slash, Murder, Murder Mystery, Plot Twists, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Science, Sherlock is a Mess, Smut, ass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:53:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29675892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jiminiefluffloverowo/pseuds/Jiminiefluffloverowo
Summary: Sherlock and John are out on an investigation involving murder. At the crime scene, John experiences something he wishes he could keep a secret.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Kudos: 10





	I Try to Master the Art (Of That Far Away Love)

It was a gloomy Monday afternoon. John and Sherlock were on an investigation that felt like it would take a lifetime. They had been going around this crime scene about fifty times at this point, and John felt hopeless. He sighed in exasperation. Sherlock wouldn’t even pay him any attention – he was so busy thinking. Thinking, it was all he did. And so did John, but of way other things. Things he could never tell the other man about without fucking everything up. 

“John”, he heard in the midst of his pondering. He immediately looked right into his eyes and saw the other scrutinizing him with his gaze.

“Huh?” John responded very quickly, almost too quickly. He furrowed his eyebrows.

“You’re not focusing”, he said sternly. 

“Sorry”, he apologized quickly without thinking. He knew Sherlock didn’t like it when he apologized for everything, but it was almost like he couldn’t help it. The words just left his mouth whenever he had nothing else to say.

“You know we have to complete this investigation. We don’t have time for daydreaming.” And with that he continued walking a few steps ahead of John. John felt unseen. 

Suddenly, Sherlock stopped in his tracks. “Look Watson”, he said quickly and grabbed the other’s arm. John’s attention was piqued. Sherlock pointed at a corner in the abandoned building. John did not see anything. 

“What”, he said with a concerned tone. Sherlock was already on his way to the corner he pointed at and dug up a small shiny tool from his pocket. He poked at a little spot on the dusty floor. He inspected what looked like a little pile of nail clippings. Evidence.

Weeks ago

The door wasn’t closed. John caught a glimpse of the streak of light that hit the floor. What he wasn’t aware of was the fact that Sherlock was inside. He peered into the lit room, silently as he could. Sherlock was clipping his nails. 

John had always admired the hands of the other male. They were not only long and slender, they also had those gorgeous slim nail beds. Oh, how he had dreamt of those. Sherlock had a habit of forgetting to clip his nails – he was always so busy otherwise, doing all the work thinking. He wouldn’t admit it to himself, but it awakened something in him. An urge, a primitive one. 

So, whenever Sherlock grabbed the scissors, he would innocently wait in the living room. And like a hungry wolf, he stormed into the bathroom as soon as Sherlock had left. He never cleaned up – and that was to John’s delight. 

He would never collect the shavings, but he would allow himself to stare at them. It was like his gaze became transfixed on the small white things.

Current day

John’s breathing hitched as soon as he saw the tiny pile. Sherlock glanced over at him with furrowed brows. Why did he start breathing so heavily all of a sudden?

“What’s going on, Watson?” Sherlock put a reassuring hand on the other’s slightly shivering shoulder. 

“I– It’s nothing”, he tried. A pathetic attempt at regaining composure was made. 

“I’m not dumb, Watson. That’s not what I’m famous for.”

“I promise, Sherlock. It’s really nothing. Maybe I just have a fever or something. Or something we had for tea, maybe”, he said and tried his best to look ill. His eyes shifted between Sherlock’s and the corner in question. Sherlock did not look a bit convinced by his lying. John tugged at his trousers. They were getting tight, and that was stressing the hell out of him. 

Sherlock approached him slowly, and by instinct John backed off. 

“What’s the matter with you today? You’ve been all fidgety since morning.” Sherlock reached for his forehead. “You’re sweating.” 

Sherlock’s eyes caught John’s bulge. He immediately put his hand down to his side. 

“Bloody hell”, Sherlock whispered. 

“I can’t tell you”, John said. “You’ll just–“  
“You need to tell me what’s going on, Watson.”

“I– No, I can’t”, he said and looked down. 

Sherlock just stared at him in silence. John took a deep breath.

“I wank over nail clippings, okay?” The silence that followed was murderous. 

-

John did not say anything for a while. The silence was deafening, and Sherlock just remained there, compellingly calm. Why couldn’t he just say anything? Scream at him? Do whatever that showed him they were still alive.

“Have you…” Sherlock started after what felt like hours of stillness. John looked up, terrified of what might come next.

“Have I what?” he whispered, shuddering.

Sherlock took a deep breath and searched for the words. For once, he was dumbfounded. “Have you ever wanked”, he tried and John could hear the distaste in his tone, “have you ever wanked over, let’s say, my nail clippings?” he continued.

John looked straight ahead. He could not lie; Sherlock would catch him. “Most probably.”

“Most probably?” he asked incredulously. “Most probably, Watson?”

All he could do was nod. “I mean…”

“You are telling me, that you go around, sneaking like a fucking rabies-infested rat, sniffing for nail clippings? Have I gotten it right, Watson?”

“You– You probably have, yes.”

“That’s all you can say?”

“I bet you get horny sometimes too, what the hell?”

“No, I am asexual.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

“I’ve seen you jerk off, you fucking twat. And I’ve seen you doing it to lads too, on the telly. You think you’re sneaky you little arsehole.”

Sherlock stared at him, gaping. He was dumbstruck. It wasn’t like John to say something like that. He was much more of the shy type. The shy boy type who sat in the back of the classroom waiting to get called by the teacher. 

“Alright”, Sherlock mused, “you got me. I am a poof. I fancy lads.”

He sighed. “I know, Sherlock. I’m not stupid either. I work with you after all.”

Sherlock gazed over to the concrete wall. He looked shy over something John could not tell. 

“What is it, Sherlock?”

“I–“ he began but lost the words. “I don’t just fancy lads.”

“You like birds too?”

“No. I mean, I like you mate.”

His face heated up. He was not expecting that. Honestly, sometimes he even suspected that Sherlock had something against him. Turns out he was wrong. Maybe it was his way of concealing his feelings for him.

John darted right into his arms. His crusty lips met Sherlock’s dry ones and they shared a passionate lover’s kiss. The two locked eyes. He had finally gotten what he wanted, what he had searched for since last year.

“You fancy snogging lads?”

“In fact, I do, my dear Watson.”

“What do you say about, let’s say, getting into business?” he asked and winked. 

“Where?”

John looked over to the corner. They both immediately knew what he had initiated. They knew what was on his mind.

-

His balls dangled in free air. It felt good compared to the tight trousers. Sherlock went down and caught him in his mouth. He had a tiny mouth, like most British men. And God, did it feel good. He laid his eyes on the little pile in the corner. Suddenly, his breathing hitched.

“You fancy my schlorping?”

He nodded quickly with a embarrassed smile. “Continue, please” he begged.

“I will, love.”

Suddenly a gush of wind swept through the open wall. Right in the midst of passionate love making, John realized his precious pile of nails had vanished. He looked around while he panicked internally. He had not done all that work for nothing, for it to just disappear. Sherlock did not notice anything. His primate chip had activated and thus he could only focus on his lover’s meat. 

He immediately turned limp.

Sherlock who was quick to notice, looked right up at him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked with a confused face.

John looked close to crying. “My nail clippings–“

What did he say? My nail clippings? Sherlock looked over to the corner. They truly were gone. “What about them?”

“I– I cannot get hard without them”, he explained. “It’s the only way.”

Sherlock did admit to himself that it was a punch at his self-esteem. Here he thought he was the one with incredible cock sucking powers, when in reality it was just the stupid fucking nail clippings. And now they were gone, and so was John’s erection. 

“Are you serious?”

He nodded with glassy eyes. “I am. I’m sorry, Sherlock.”

Sherlock got up with his hands on his knees, looking down at the concrete ground. It truly was a nasty place. Maybe John liked that. 

“I must leave”, Sherlock announced. He didn’t have to. They both knew it. He just didn’t know how to continue this. 

And so he left. John remained silent.

One day later

“Sherlock, did you touch the nail sample?” the researcher asked with furrowed brows.

“I never touched them.” He was getting nervous. “Only with my tweezers. I put them in the bag.”

The researcher sighed. “It shows your DNA. And only yours. Maybe you touched them without knowing, I’m not sure– It couldn’t have been a mistake…”

But Sherlock did not process the words. All he could think of was the blackout that was conquering his mind. He could not have – could he? he thought. It wasn’t possible. But it was. And it scared him. John had collected his nail clippings and put them there. It was all his.


End file.
